CHAPTER 1

 Fran sat in the other room in a two-room cottage in the heart of Wales and stared blindly at her books. In a minute, she'd go outside again and everything would be fine. This morning wouldn't have happened.

Hannah was busy with baby Amanda, Alicia the cat watching every movement of Amanda's pudgy arms and legs like a sphinx watching over a pharaoh. Fynn was presumably out doing up the fences, which left Fran at a bit of loose end. She had a job interview in two days, a trainee post at a newspaper in Cardiff. She knew Fynn secretly didn't want her to get it. he'd miss her too much.
Fynn wandered into the house, tanned and tired. It was astonishing how the five of them managed to fit into the cottage, and Fran was prepared to bet the inside actually swelled to accommodate them. Considering all the inhabitants were or had been enchanters, a slight rearranging of the laws of physics was inevitable.
Even so, the cottage seemed too small and airless to Fran sometimes, and she had to get out, just to the town, fifteen miles away.
"I'm off out," she announced. "Anyone want anything?"
"Think we're okay, thanks," Hannah called back cheerfully. "Chocolate's always welcome, though."
"You got it." Fran grinned at the nanny affectionately. "Later, guys."
She blinked, and vanished.
Fynn suddenly dropped his bag of nails with a bright, rolling sound. "Oh, sod it."
"Language," said Hannah absently.
Fynn didn't hear. "She'll go to the restaurant…"

Fran near as dammit purred into her shopping bags. There were enough new books in them to account for at least one smallish tree, all with the new book smell, and the spines uncreased and the covers unfolded. All ruinously expensive, of course, but Fran decided to ignore that in favour of spending yet more money on a jug of iced chocolate at Esme's.
Esme herself, the finest chef Fran knew, ironically couldn't eat the food she prepared so lovingly, nor could she drink anything that wasn't most commonly O negative. Also, there was no way the chef-owner of Esme's could venture out of her restaurant in daylight.
More properly, Esme was a friend of Hannah's, but over the last year or so the rest of the household had become sufficiently familiar to be allowed into the kitchen doors at the back. The day manager, Rachael, nodded at Fran.
"Her ladyship's awake and cooking. Braising a heart and trying not to lick her fingers, last time I saw." Rachael wasn't in the least afraid of her vampiric employer. It was a minority view.
Fran stuck her head around a shelf. "Hey Esme," she called. "Any iced choccie for a shopped-out enchantress?"
Esme turned, inhumanly fast, and squealed. "Grief, it's you!"
Fran checked her reflection in a saucepan. "Hmm, it's five in the afternoon and I've already managed to freak out a vampire. Even by my standards…"
"It's just-" Esme visibly pulled herself together. "I was told you were dead. Fynn- well, he was in a state, put it like that."
"Funny, I heard you were dead, too. O'course, it doesn't stop you either." And then Fran saw Esme's expression change. "What is it?"
"I didn't know. Fran, I'm so sorry, I truly believed, he was a mess, I thought he was going to do something."
"Es, you're gabbling."
"Yes, I am." Esme took a pointlessly deep breath. "Fynn came here, nearly hysterical. I calmed him down, and he told me that you'd had a demon in your head, and they'd got it out, and then you'd smashed your head on the way down."
"That's all true. The demon smashed through my mind, I was AWOL for a long time."
"He said there was nothing left of you, that you were dead. I couldn't leave alone like that, and- Fran, I slept with Fynn."
"Say that again." There seemed to a rushing sound, from somewhere close. Fran couldn't hear her own thoughts. "Say that again, Esme."
"I slept with Fynn. I have no defence for what I did, I know that. All I can do is keep telling you how sorry I am until my lips bleed."
"And that would such a waste for you," said Fran lightheadedly. She'd experienced physical shock, before, where you suddenly went cold and shivery, but this was of a different order of shock. Her emotions had closed down, and her thoughts seemed both perfectly clear and stretched out, almost beyond bearing. "It's not your fault. Excuse me, I have to go now. Now. Good bye, Esme. Thank you for telling me."
"Fran, don't go-"
But Fran was gone.

© Naomi Claydon, 2000